The Buzzcut Boys, Chapter 1

Travis Damon opened the car door and stood up to stretch, his legs protesting the sudden straightening. Trying to shake off the six hour drive from Atlanta, he readjusted his triple XL t-shirt in the summer heat and looked up to the old Victorian house. It sat in the middle of a large field, edge in by a lush forest. A lovely blue, Its paint lighter on the south side of the house and darker on the north. Brown window covers dotted the house and a white wrap around porch was partially hidden by enormous azalea bushes. All that was missing was his grandmother sipping sweet tea on the old rocking chair near the front door.

The nostalgia of the scene stabbed him like a knife; the knowledge he’d never see her on that rocking chair ever again. Being the only family member mentioned in her will, he was due at a local attorneys office at 10am tomorrow to go over her affairs.

He trudged up the creaking steps, luggage in hand, to the front door. Grasping the doorhandle, he swore and jerked his hand back to see a streak of blood follow the line in his palm and drip down onto the porch.

Carefully twisting the doorhandle with just the tips of his fingers, he opened the door to a beautiful foyer, the enormous grandfather clock still dutifully keeping track of the time . Walking quickly past antique furniture and flower wallpaper, he made it to the kitchen where he grabbed some paper towels. Nostalgia stabbed again at the old round table where he had devoured many cookies fresh from the oven.

Washing and drying his cut, he pressed more paper towels into his palm. Trying to decided looking for a band-aid or getting something to eat, his stomach growled and made the decision for him. He opened the fridge and quickly shut it as the stench of rotten food wafted over him. Cautiously, he opened the freezer. A lean cuisine looked back at him, something pasta, and he grabbed it with his free hand. Turing, he spotted the old microwave on the kitchen counter. Popping it in, he hit some buttons and the lean cuisine started spinning.

Grabbing his suitcase, he made his way back down the hallway and trudged up the stairs. Dropping off his suitcase in the guestroom, he paused to look down the hallway. He made his way to her bedroom door and softly pushed it opened.

It was simple. That made sense, that’s part of who she was. A bed, a dresser, and a vanity where all her make up and jewelry boxes were still neatly lined up, awaiting to decorate their mistress. A couple of pictures sat in the corner. He smiled, and picked up on of himself and her eating watermelon on the porch.

“I miss you gram.” Travis sat on the bed, it creaked beneath him. “I’m happy you’re no longer in pain, but still, I really miss you- SHIT!”

The smell of smoke retched him back to the present. He dashed back through the hall and down the stairs. Huffing and puffing, his eyes watered as he entered the kitchen. Dark smoke billowed from the microwave rippling up to condense into a cloud on the ceiling. No time to think, he ripped the cord out of the wall. Shoving on oven mitts and taking a deep breath, he picked up the smoking machine and threw the whole thing into the sink. Coughing, he turned on the water and with a loud hiss the smoke billowing from the burning metal turned white.

Still coughing, he blundered over to the bay window and wrenched it open. Sticking his head out as far as he could, he gulped in several breaths of fresh air. His eyes watering, He pulled himself back in. He lumbered around the house and opened every window he could, some stuck after decades of being shut. Finally, he opened the front door and set an umbrella stand to keep the door open. Standing out on the porch and breathing in clean air, he saw two trucks making their way up the long winding driveway.

The first truck was new, black and huge. The second seemed to be an old fashioned fire truck. Its softly curving red frame put it at least 70 years old. They stopped at the same time, and the doors burst open. Travis eyes widened as a team of huge, beefy guys assembled in front of the house. Both vehicles actually rocking back and forth as their occupants departed, even standing a few inches taller.

They stood in a semi-circle facing him on the front lawn, six of them in total. Thick arms and huge legs, and the smallest of them was easily over 300lbs. They all looked to be in their mid-twenties, except for the guy on the right, a paramedic bag slung over his shoulder. Their clothing military, various colors of decked out cargo with plenty of pockets. The one thing they all had in common was their hair cropped as close to their scalps as possible.

The guy on the right, the largest of them all stepped forward. There were a few wrinkles around his eyes, a couple gray hairs in a thick brown beard. He adjusted the bag over his shoulder and called out, “Yo Travis everything good?”

Travis stumbled and grabbed onto the banister for support. “How do you know my name?”

The man snorted, “No worries kid. Old Mary was a good friend of the town’s. We’ve seen plenty of pictures of you when you was little, “ He looked him up and down, “You’ve grown into a fine young man there.” He said with an almost hungry look in his eyes.

Travis gulped, “Thank you…um, who are all of you?”

“Oh where are my manners. I’m Big Flint, and these here are The Buzzcut Boys,” He waved his hand at the assembled guys, who let out a rousing cheer. “Abbot County’s combination police, fire, and ambulance services.” He raised a hand and the cheering stopped.

“So what’s smokin’?”

“Oh,” Travis gestured over his shoulder, “the microwave crapped out on me.”

“Called it,” cried a voice from the group.

“Chuck! Hunter!” Big Flint barked, and two of the guys moved forward. The stairs creaked loudly to protest them climbing the stairs. They squeezed through the front door into the house.

“It’s down the hall to the right!” Travis called out.

“Don’t worry, they know.” Flint set down his paramedic bag. The other guys had relaxed and were milling around the vehicles. Travis stepped down into the yard, immediately regretting doing so as it put him at least a head below everyone else.

Big Flint cocked his head, “Your hand ok?”

“Oh,” Travis glanced down, “I think there’s something sharp on the doorhandle.”

There was a knowing look in Big Flint’s eye as he waved him over. As Travis approached, he reached down to pull some stuff out of his bag. Travis found his hand enveloped by a huge bear paw that was also soft and gentle.

“How’d y’all get here so quickly?”

“Stations just over yonder, “ Big Flint nodded with his head. Travis saw he had gestured down the road than he had never traveled, since the highway was from the other direction. “We’re actually on the corner of the property, next to the lake. and Old Mary was generous enough to continue your families tradition of not charging us rent.” He sprayed Travis’s hand with something that stung, and wrapped it in gauze. “Been a real life-saver to the town. Plus, we fill the fire truck from the lake.”

“Your grandma was somethin’ special. So when she started slow’n down, we all pitched in. We put fire alarms and sensors in the house, and one of us stopped by everyday to check on her.”

Another stab, the strongest yet. The thought that she was cared for so well. He couldn’t hold it in, his eyes started to water.

“Oh hey now, none of that.” Big Flint put his supplies away and wrapped Travis in a tight hug.

Travis fought back a little against this stranger’s embrace, but the tears came too hot and too quickly. Suddenly, the hug’s pressure grew, and seemed to be coming from all sides.

“I know man.”

“We miss her too.”

“Everything she cooked was so good.” That was accompanied by a growl from a stomach.

“Alright, give him some breathing room.” Big Flint broke up the group hug by pushing the other guys away with one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around Travis. “Take your time, little man.”

Travis stood for another minute, before gently stepping back. He saw Chuck and Hunter coming back down the front steps, microwave in hand.

“Yep, this little bastard finally crapped out.”

“Alright, We can trash this for ya,” He nodded his head and they walked it to the truck. “Better keep the windows open a bit longer to get rid of the smoke.”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Now listen.” He plopped a huge hand onto Travis shoulder, “You take it easy ok? If you need us, number’s in the kitchen, or you can always hop in your car and visit us at the station. Like I said, we’re just down the road.”

“Okay, thanks.” Travis said. Past Big Flint’s shoulder, his eyes wandered over the beefy build of the buzzcut boys. All looking like bodybuilders on off season. He saw three of them around the car, and two sets of boots on the other side of the black truck.

The boots were close to each other facing the same direction, and the truck was gently rocking.

Big Flint must have seen Travis eyes widen.

“GAVIN! COLT!”

The boots hastily stepped apart and the truck stopped rocking.

Big Flint cursed softly. “Load up!” the guys started getting into the cars.

“Alright, take care now. And watch that door handle.” Big Flint abled over and got in the passenger side of the black truck. With a spray of gravel, they took off.

Travis stood there rubbing his palm, taking in the whole experience. After a while, he turned and made his way back up the stairs. Chuck or Travis must have bumped into the umbrella stand, as it lay sideways in front of the now closed door. He picked it up with his good hand, and reached for the doorhandle.

“FUCK!”

A sharp pain again, he looked at his palm as another welt of blood rose next to the bandage and started to run. He glanced down at the doorhandle. It was old fashion silver, and decades of use had worn it smooth.

Shaking his head, he went inside and slammed the door.